


Precious Metals

by oesterheld



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Bisexual, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gay, Hacker, Heterosexual, Lesbian, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Science Fiction, cop, life after people, mechanic, pilot, sci fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oesterheld/pseuds/oesterheld
Summary: Five people. Some aliens. Some conspiracies. A couple of cyberpunk gays. You'll love it.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ep. 1: Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hide: pronounced hi as in heel and de as in day. hide. it’s his name. he's Japanese.

This plane is nothing like any ship I've been trained to pilot, but it's my only hope, and there isn’t much of that out in the wastes. I grip the wheel, checking my compass, and look out into the distance to search for my destination.

The unmistakable man-made structure creeps into my view, and I see it for the first time in a year. Before then, I’d seen it every single day. That wall used to be like a blanket of comfort. I thought seeing it again would make me feel comforted.

I don’t. I feel like I’m flying right into a trap that I helped set.

I don’t change course.


	2. Crow

**New Message**

**To: Crow Li**

**From: Maya Diaz**

**Subject: transporting goods**

I lift the disposable phone from my pocket and look at the notification on the screen, a preview of a message I received on my computer back at my apartment. I make a mental note to check my computer when I get back and continue walking through the marketplace on the waterfront. The rest of the huge city of Skopelan is similarly bright, but the areas alongside the river that flows through the center of town are the oldest parts of the city, with one or two buildings still constructed out of brick and mortar. Bright words and icons fill almost everywhere the eye can reach, screaming to buy this or try that, "free samples!" and "save 10%!" Pinks and oranges and purples and blues flood the sky even past the sunset, but real sunsets are occasional anyway. The neon lights were comforting.

My hand travels lightly along the steel railing separating me from the dark, green water of the Atlantic Ocean. I used to be able to imagine the smell of fresh water down there, but now I just inhale the atmosphere of smoke and pollution and fast food. I cough once and adjust the black mask covering my mouth and nose, passing a restaurant that bustles louder than its surroundings. Scanning the place, I find a sign above the door that reads "CHEM SHOPPE" in red LED lights. This is my stop. I continue around the building and take a right into the tight alley beside it, checking my phone to make sure this is the right place. I slide it back into the deep pocket of my loose brown slacks and walk to the end, stopping when I hear a clang on the other side of a door to my left.

"Hello...?" I keep the tone of my voice low and the sound of movement behind the door stops. Silence behind the door follows momentarily, and then metal slides out of seemingly nowhere and a small opening reveals a set of neon blue eyes, looking me up and down. I chuckle behind my mask at the visual.

"You're Crow?" The eyes asks with a masculine, gravelly voice. "What're you, twelve?"

"I'm of legal age to be the biggest local black market items dealer, if that's what you're worried about." I remark sarcastically. I get comments about my age often in my profession; I'm 17, which seems young to be as criminally famous as I am, but it's not like I can back out now. I make great money. "Do you have what I said?"

"I got it. Do you got what you promised?" his eyebrow rises almost comically. I reach into my pocket and slowly pull out a roll of cash, holding it so he can see.  
"Alright, I guess fair's fair. I don't know what a kid's gonna do with a car defibrillator from ages ago but..." he grumbles as the metal slot slides shut again and more clanging and crashing echoes inside. A minute later, the thick metal door opens and an arm pops out, holding the merchandise.

"Throw the money inside and take the gadget, son." he shakes the defibrillator for good measure. I roll the bundle of cash through the crack in the door and reach out to take the car part, carefully avoiding any contact with the man's hand holding it. I note that it's skin. Could be grafted over metal, but the man doesn't seem like the kind to have the money for such a pretty prosthetic. It must be flesh.

I ease a little and lift it away from his hand, safely putting it in the satchel slung at my hip and holding it there. He holds his hand out for a moment longer and I start to say thanks before he retracts the limb and slams the door. Almost Silence surrounds me in the empty alley; what would be silence in the bubble of the alleyway if the rest of the world stopped for just a moment. It doesn't.

I find myself back on the busy, colorfully lit, loud waterfront.

Once I'm out of the crowd in the marketplace, I wave down a car. This one is pink. It pulls to the side of the road and the card slot in the door blinks, attracting customers' eyes to the identifier that every vehicle has. I insert my (fake) identification card and the door pops open. I climb in and type my destination address into the screen in front of the passenger seat.

"Would you like the Premium City Tour on the way to your destination, Mr. Li?" the automated voice asks.

"No. Thank you." I answer and sit back into the chair, sinking so my eyes poke out at the bottom of the window as I feel the pull of the car beginning to move, quickly accelerating to standard speed. I watch the lights blur and I let my eyes focus on a single scratch in the lower window, the neon city fading into the background. A pop music station plays a generic sounding Blast from the Past song:

_Sun is shinin' in the sky_   
_There ain't a cloud in sight_   
_It's stopped rainin' everybody's in a play_   
_And don't you know_   
_It's a beautiful new day, hey hey!_

I turn the radio off and melt into another temporary Almost Silence.

✰

The car pulls to a stop right where I told it to, in front of my apartment. The building is hundreds of feet tall, and living spaces are stacked on top of each other like storage boxes. I grab at my satchel, making sure I don't leave anything in the car for the next person to find, before I pop open the door and get out. I cross behind the car, reaching the sidewalk before the car zooms off, as it's programmed to do when the user reaches a certain distance. I watch it for a split second before it disappears into the bustling city.

My apartment is on the outskirts of Skopelan, away from any authority that could track my happenings. My job is not strictly legal, and I don't want any more attention than I already have on my name. So I live many miles out from the center of the city. It's not like transportation is an issue with the automated cars, driving themselves at 100mph down the roads, programmed to know the location of everything around them and able to plan routes minutes in advance. The last vehicle accident happened the last time a human drove a vehicle: decades ago.

I walk up to the tall building, pressing a button on the outside wall. The apartment complex is simply designed, built to house people, but not to impress. The face of the building is flat and colorless, save for some filth, grime, and the occasional vine making its way up the wall, searching for a sun that's obscured by the dust and smoke. The only structural imperfection in the wall is the door at the bottom, and to the left, a button with an up arrow below a key card slot. I push my identity card through and press the button. The doors slide open almost immediately, revealing a slightly trashy elevator with shiny metal walls. I pat the door as I shuffle in, a gesture I try to do every time I enter to thank the building for providing for me. Technology never ceases to provide.

Inside the small room, there is a keyboard on the wall with numbers 0-9, and a digital screen with the blinking words "Welcome to Violet Hill Flats." I press nine, then four, then enter, taking me to the ninth floor, fourth room. The ride is about 30 seconds before the box stops and opens up to the room I recognize as home.

"Lights on." I mumble. I toss my satchel onto the bed and give the elevator door another pat as I step into the space. It's certainly not impressive; there's a small kitchen area on the wall to the right of the elevator that is completely dysfunctional, overtaken by electronic projects and complicated tools. The bed is on the wall to the right of that, with a large window above it viewing the city below. The windows are only visible from the inside, leaving the outside of the building with a cleaner and more modern finish. The bathroom door is on the back wall to the far left, with only a toilet and a shower (the sink is in the kitchen), and the rest of the back wall is covered in various documents tacked up or even duct taped to the wall. There are pictures, news articles, and theories, printed out from online, with different colors of sharpie highlighting and connecting certain pictures to words, names, and ideas. It's the wall of someone who is obsessed. To the left of the elevator is a small TV area. I've been living here for four months now, and I have no reason to leave.

"Television on." I fall into my cushioned desk chair and pick up a few trinkets from my workspace on the kitchen counter as the TV switches on, displaying three pictures; a candid of a cop and two mug shots. Hide Murasaki, Gale Harvane, and Rosalyn Bradshaw. Rosie. Her mugshot doesn't do her justice but it still turns heads, not because of conventional beauty, but because her features were so interesting, it's hard to look away. Her eyes are black and her face is spattered with freckles. Her ethnicity is impossible to pinpoint. She has high cheekbones, carrying curiosity and hard-set determination. Her expression can only be described as a shit-eating grin, prominently displaying the slightly crooked tooth in front. My shoulders tighten looking at her, so full of life. I avert my eyes in favor of the spottily stained carpet.

"It has been four months since the disappearance of well-known Skopelan police officer Hide Murasaki, along with the two criminals he was in pursuit of when he vanished. This morning, though, the case was closed and ruled a runaway, surprising many people invested in this story. I have Mr. Kalvin Ford, head of the police department, here with me to discuss the issue-"

"Television off." I command, interrupting the anchorwoman on the TV from introducing her guest. My hands had stilled from their fidgeting sometime since I turned on the television and I let out a heavy breath. I spin in my chair to face the back wall, leaning back and wiping my face tiredly as if to swipe away tears, although none had fallen. Somewhere in the mess of the "investigation wall," as I call it in my head (although my neighbor calls it a conspiracy wall), there's a large picture of Kalvin Ford. It's a picture of him torn from the cover of a Time magazine, where he's clean cut and spiffy, clad in a crisp suit and tie and smirking for the camera.  
I fling my screwdriver at the image as hard as I can.

As it turns out, that's not very hard. Still, though, the blunt end of the tool hits the picture, denting the thin drywall and ripping Ford's nose almost clean off. The screwdriver clatters to the ground and, without a second to spare, there's a knock on the damaged wall from the person on the other side.

"Stop throwing shit at the wall, man. It's ass-o'clock-in-the-morning, get some fuckin' sleep." Comes a shout from the other apartment. Her voice is deep and layered with a slight Japanese accent. We chat sometimes. She's nice company.

"Sorry." I shout back. I bend into myself, resting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my face with my hands.

"Invested in the story..." I mumble to myself, "Murasaki has never made a mistake in his life. He's the most famous cop this side of the Mississippi; He wouldn't-" I stop and sigh, shaking my head and rubbing my face yet again. He wouldn't put lives on the line, I finish my thought. Even criminal ones.

"I thought your therapist told you to stop talking to yourself." The voice sounds from the wall again. The wall is thin enough for us to hear any minuscule sound from our neighbor's rooms, so we have become reasonably close. I know she's nineteen and she just got out of flight school. She doesn't have any family, but she's touchy around the subject of Hide Murasaki, who she says she knew from flight school. Unfortunately for her, the Murasaki disappearance is the topic of most of their conversation. My life revolves around the case. But we don't have too much conversation, as she's only home two or three nights a week.

"I don't have a therapist, Red." I shoot back. We keep a sort of anonymity between us; we don't know each other's names. I have a feeling she has trust issues; besides, it's easier to talk to someone about government conspiracies when you don't have to think about who you're talking to. We use fake names, based on our favorite color.

"I'm practically your therapist, Green, and I'm telling you to stop talking to yourself." Red replies.

"I'm not talking to myself if you're actively responding, am I?"

"Touché." Red sighs, and I hear her bed creak as she sits up-- a tell-tale sign she's willing to entertain my thoughts.

"Runaways. Can you believe that?" I continue my previous grievance. Rather than an answer, I hear sudden shuffling on the other side of the wall. I assume she got tired of my loud mouth, opting to leave instead, and I consider conceding and telling her I’ll pipe down, but she replies before I can.

"No." Red responds simply. I reel at that. Usually my wall mate doesn't say much in terms of opinion, letting me spout off about my theories and ideas. This is a clear declaration of stance.

"Do you think the government has something to do with the Murasaki Disappearance?" I test.

"No. Just covering it up. Ford knows as well as I do that Hide hasn't made a notable mistake or lapse of judgement in at least five years." Red sounds almost heated. I've only ever known the girl to be without much emotion or passion; one could even say she's cold. But now her tone of voice feels hot, emotive.

This sends my mind spinning. Previously, I had almost believed in a long-held conspiracy theory that there's an extremely secret government organization based around picking off individuals that cause trouble for the country or the government. Maybe they killed these three for some reason and Ford, or the CIA, is covering it up. But Red went to NASA flight school, and was in close proximity to all of the characters in the equation. Her theory has weight, and it's a theory that I haven't considered.

The two criminals made their move on a docking platform on September 5. Murasaki passes by on his nightly rounds, sees their minor attempt at thievery, and stops them. Supposedly, he tackled them into the water and none of them were seen again. Not a single body was found.

But there are cameras everywhere. You can't go a single place in Amirema it seems without being spotted by one. So why was none of that released in the media? Why are there no witnesses, especially on a Saturday night practically neighboring an up and coming bar? Not a single recording or eye witness account has been submitted— only speculations based on the state of the scene in the morning.

Something happened to these three people and the government is covering it up. But why would Ford cover up an incident that wasn't the Skopelan Police Department's fault? Wouldn't they just come clean? The only answer I can think of is that the SPD doesn't know any more than I do. Ford is just doing damage control while the information comes in, trying to regulate the SPD's image while they still don't know all the facts.

Until this point, I was just riding the thought train, following each idea to the next logical one, but my brain stops in its tracks at the next thought. It's crazy, and this is coming from a person with a conspiracy wall, but it's the next logical conclusion I can draw. I scan the wall once more, then turn to my desk, grabbing a black sharpie, ripping out a sheet of grid paper from my engineering notebook, and scrawling one word, in big letters:

**ALIENS?**

I stand in contemplative silence, save for the police radio's constant jabber in the background. I open my mouth to tell Red my new, insane theory when I'm interrupted.  
A sharp, quick noise from outside my window breaks the silence of my thoughts. It sounds like something whizzing through the air and hitting the ground. I race to my window and spot the culprit: a small crashed spacecraft, dozens of miles outside of the city. In the middle of nowhere.

No one else seems to have noticed the crash- I listen for it on the police scanner perched on my night stand- but smoke is rising steadily from where the ship broke earth. It's difficult to see against the night sky and through the already prominent smokey atmosphere, but I train my eyes on it. My breath quickens as I step away from the window, trying to process what I just saw.

When my computer starts speaking, I scream.

"It's 3:00AM, master, reminder to read your messages before bed and seal any potentially dangerous projects." I calm down, still wound up from the crash I just witnessed, and remember the defibrillator.

I turn around to face the rest of my room and my satchel catches my eye from where it rests on my bed. The contents of the bag from my previous escapade of the night remind me of the message on my computer that I need to read. I cross the room to my laptop and open it up. It takes me straight to my email, on which I have almost 4,000 unread messages, and I go to open the top one, but I see an alert on the screen. It's a message to the private police line I'm wired into.

UFO LANDED SIXTY-FIVE MILES NORTH-EAST OF SKOPELAN, OUTSIDE OF SANDPOINT, IDAHO. PROCEED WITH CAUTION, MAY BE EXTRATERRESTRIAL. REMINDER: KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR HIDE MURASAKI, GALE HARVANE, AND ROSALYN BRADSHAW.

"Oh my god." I let out under my breath. I click the top message and read it.

**New Message**

**To: Crow Li**

**From: Maya Diaz**

**Subject: transporting goods**

**You said you'd have the defibrillator yesterday!!! I don't really need it by a deadline but I'd really like to have it, the project we're working on is really coming along, man. Please help me out. If there's anything I can do for you, you know how to find me.**

I scan the email again. From my previous experience with Lace, the girl is arrogant and childish, but she's a decent pilot. I need one, right now. I have to get to the crash site before the police, which means I have approximately 30 minutes.

"Call Maya Lacey Diaz." I command the automated voice that I wired into my room, affectionately named Janet.

"Calling "Maya Lacey Diaz" in contacts." Janet replies.


	3. Lace

Our footsteps splash in shallow puddles and my laughter rings louder than the police sirens, which are fading out now. My short curly hair bounces on the top of my head, blown back by the wind as I slow my run down the street, panting and giggling in joyous success with my friend. My long legs and slim figure prove very useful for running away from trouble; I've often wondered if maybe that's the reason I started getting into trouble so often. Bear, however, is dense and strong but not very fast. She has the same advantage of height that I do but less of the lightness. Nevertheless, we both made it out of the lion's den this time.

Which leads to the two of us hunched over, hands on our knees, panting in a rundown alley. Or maybe it's a street, no one can really tell in this section of the city. Garbage, in and out of bins, lines the streets. There are fewer lights here, which is almost jarring to newcomers. The world is so bright, sometimes people forget darkness even exists. Orange street lamps illuminate the smoke in the air, and Bear pulls her orange handkerchief back over her face once she catches her breath.

"You're gonna get cancer, Lace." She gestures to the lack of a protective barrier between me and the smoke. The white medical mask-- a national health requirement-- is shifted down to my chin.

"Your mom's gonna get cancer." I shoot back, sticking out my tongue for good measure. Regardless, I pull the mask back up over my face and we continue walking peacefully.

Comfortable city sounds filter between us and I think about the way Bear's feet hit the ground with every step. Heel, toe, heel, toe. She fumbles with one of her boxer braids. She checks her watch. It's witching hour. She notes this to me.

"There was a song my mom used to sing to me about witches." She continues nonchalantly, "Apparently people were burned alive a long time ago for being witches. I've always wondered if they were real. If they still are."

"I wonder what it's like to be burned alive." I say, putting my hands in my pockets. "It's supposed to be the most painful way to go."

"There's a very specific type of brain eating amoeba-"

"I know about the brain eating amoeba, Bear. Not relevant."

"You said it was the most painful! I'm just saying, there are worse ways. Drowning, also."

"See, drowning is interesting. So is burning alive. I saw this painting once of some girl who drowned and it was really beautiful and poetic. Amoebas, however, are lame. And boring, and not romantic at all." I explain. Out of nowhere, my arm starts trembling and jerking and I let out a pained noise, grabbing it with my other hand. Bear flinches away and frowns deeply.

I've been getting the tremors for a few weeks now, indicating the first sign of the virus. It attacks computers and technology, including biotech, and I have a biotech left arm, left eye, and right knee. It's incurable, and practically everyone past the age of two has a non-flesh addition to their human body. People are dying young, dropping like flies because the prosthetic isn't just an artificial limb you can take off and fix; it's intertwined with your human body. To get it removed would require extensive surgery that would cost far more than buying the prosthetic in the first place; removal is almost impossible because no one ever thought it would be necessary.  
Suffice to say, there are worse ways of dying.

My phone buzzes silently in my pocket and Bear lifts it out. Crow Li, a somewhat infamous name in the underground community, is calling. She looks pointedly at me, as if to say "Are we cool to take this right now?" I nod enthusiastically and she answers.

"Hello?" she prompts.

"Are you Lacey's friend?" a surprisingly high voice asked upon hearing the opposing feminine one. Normally, Crow puts his voice through a filter to make it sound unnaturally deep, to mask his identity.

"That's me." Bear answers, ignoring my insistence from beside her that I have more than one friend, dammit.

"I need help. Quite a bit of it. You said you two were willing to trade parts for services, and I want to cash out on that deal now." Crow lays down his request.

"Yeah, okay. That's only fair. What is it you need us to do?" Bear probably assumes he needs something stolen or transported. We are, after all, thieves.

"I need a ride. It'll most likely be difficult, but I trust that you know your way around the city and the law better than I do. I know how to evade it online, obviously, but I don't know much about what you do. Sorry this is short notice, but it's urgent, you seem to be the perfect ones for the job."

"Difficult? Do you mean dangerous, difficult? I don't know-" Bear worriedly glances at me. I roll my eyes.

"Give me the phone you big wimp," I grab it with my flesh arm and bring it up to my ear, "We'll do whatever you need."

"Thank you. Meet me-"

"Wait, meet you? Like, in person?"

"Yeah, wow, it's almost like I just said that very clearly. Do your ears need an upgrade?" Crow lays on the sarcasm. "Be at the Iron Toad, on the east end."

"When?"

"Now!" With that, Crow ends the call, leaving us to stare at each other in confusion, then realization. We're going to meet THE Crow Li. We both move at the same time, scrambling to call "Taxi!" No sooner than we say the word, a car pulls up to us and flashes the ID slot. We both scan in and shoot into the city to meet the mysterious figure we've been corresponding with for weeks.

✰

Iron Toad Brewery lives in the west side of town in the quieter, more residential area. The building has a steady flow of customers coming in and out, but it isn't bustling like most of the city. It has a calculated, controlled flow of people there to conduct business and chat peacefully. It's one of the only historical buildings left in the city, all brick and iron, with big glass windows. The brewery is known to be a place for business discussion and deal making, legal or otherwise, so they have plenty of customers, but it's never hectic. This building is one of the only ones left with not a panicked racing heart, but a steady pulse. It breathes long and slow, as if it's in a deep sleep.

Bear and I have never even come close to entering this brewery. We don't live the life that would put us there, a life of deals and deadlines. It doesn't help that Bear gets dirty looks in places like this, being the stocky six foot tall black girl that she is.

But here we are, taking a seat at a table in the corner of the Iron Toad and picking at our grime covered sleeves. The bartender behind the counter on the other side of the room eyes them carefully as they enter, deciding whether he should make a move to ask them their business here. Bear notices this.

"Lace, what if he wants us to do something illegal? Like, super illegal. Like, murder illegal?" Bear stage whispers across the table, "I can't kill a person, man. I couldn't even put down a bird with a broken wing after it flew into my window two weeks ago, I had to put it in a tree and pretend it flew away!"

I grimace, "Dude, I told you-"

"I know! I should have put it out of its misery!"

Our steadily raising heartbeats break the atmosphere and the bartender starts towards us when the door to the brewery opens, letting in the sound from outside for a moment before it shuts behind its assailant. The bartender stops in his tracks and turns to the newcomer.

It looks to be a boy, about 5'8" and clad in lots of baggy clothing. The fashion trend at the moment is to wear barely any clothing at all, with a more sleek and skin tight silhouette, so the purposeful layered look is eye-catching. The wearer pulls it off though, clad in mostly blacks and greys with thin leather gloves on his hands and a brown satchel on his side. He has a black medical mask covering his mouth (at least someone knew how to take care of their lungs) and thick goggles obscuring his eyes. The only skin that can be seen is a small portion of his neck and his ears, which are covered in piercings. Since the rest of this person is so monotone in shades of brown and black, eyes are drawn to his hair, which is bright neon green and shaved on both sides, leaving a long Mohawk of dreads in the middle, tied back into a thick bun.

The bartender pushes into the newcomer's space, before somehow being convinced to back off. The boy's gaze searches the room before landing directly on our table, and he beelines toward us.

Once he gets there, he places his hands on the table, leaning down to look at them, and clearing his throat. Bear squeaks indignantly and I gulp, not breaking eye contact (Or, what I assume is eye contact. I'm just staring into the boy's goggles).

"We need to go, now. I'll tell you your job on the way." His voice fits his job description: articulate, and a little squeaky. He speaks common with no trace of an accent. We sit stupidly in our seats, still processing what the person (who I now put two and two together to realize is Crow Li) is saying to us. Crow curses and grabs each of our hands, dragging us out of our table and toward the bar.

The bartender, who's close enough now that I can see that his name tag reads Kalvin, squares up once Crow draws near.

"Kalvin, come on. Please? I need to see Campbell." Crow pleads. Kalvin holds his stance. "I know you don't like me and you think I'm bad for business and maybe that's true but you can take that up with Campbell another time, this is between him and me and you need to let me see him, now."

Kalvin narrows his eyes and finally lets up, sidestepping to show his defeat. Crow rushes past and throws open the swinging door into the back of the building. There are a surprising amount of people behind the door, mostly big bulky men. No eyes are drawn to Crow or us, though, as we make our way through the space. Finally, Crow stops, leading Bear and me to come to a clumsy halt behind him.

"Sir, I need a ride." He spits at a taller man, who turns around at the request. He has a kind face, but ruthless businessman energy.  
"Crow, not only do I not have any chauffeurs for you-"

"I have a driver! And I'll return it lickety-split! I swear!"

Bear and I share a look, as if to say this dude isn't as threatening as the king of the dark web should probably be. But nevertheless, the man sighs, defeated.  
"Is this about what I think it's about?"

Crow stares him down for several seconds, which feel like years, until he joins the man in his sigh. "Probably, yeah."

His face softens ever-so-slightly and he gives in. "Take one of the whirlers. If I don't get it back, you can't come back here, El. Ever." At that, Crow sniffs and chances a look back at us. He shoves my shoulder and sprints further into the room and through a curtain in the back. I make a quick remark to the man who granted him access to the vehicle and follow Crow vigilantly, grabbing Bear's wrist behind me.

He pushes open the thick curtain, revealing an elevator. It's small and utilitarian, and Crow is tapping his foot, waiting inside. I hop in, Bear following behind.  
"So El, huh?" I say conversationally, or maybe teasingly, I haven't quite decided yet.

"Crow Li isn't my real name, idiot." Crow explains himself. I shrug.

The elevator door opens into a huge underground hangar with a dozen vehicles, ranging from motorcycles to a semi truck, meant to transport illegal goods, I presume. I gawk at the illegal vehicles; I've been building my own car for years just to be able to drive without government surveillance and restriction, and here is a collection of rides under a popular brewery just outside of town. I wonder how many other establishments have secrets to dish out to certain citizens. Crow pauses at the passenger seat of a sleek, aerodynamic hover-vehicle.

"What're you gawking at? You're driving.”


	4. Hide

The cockpit is full of smoke, backlit by the red flashing lights. The air is so thick, I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.


	5. Oz

Today is finally the day. I saw the interference on the north wall and immediately jumped to action, putting together my things to go get my brother.

My brother. I'm going to see him.

"Runaways. Can you believe that?” Green continues the conversation I ditched to throw together a human med kit.

Distracted from the anticipation clenching in my chest, I replied with a firm, “No.”

"Do you think the government has something to do with the Murasaki Disappearance?" Green continues cautiously, as if I could blow up at any minute. I might.

"No. Just covering it up.” I continue breathlessly. I'm finally sharing my take on his crazy ideas about this case. It feels good. I wish I could tell him it's all about to be fixed; Hide was found. “Ford knows as well as I do that Hide hasn't made a notable mistake or lapse of judgement in at least five years."

I don’t hear a response to that, but the silence is answer enough. Green is thinking. He does that a lot. He has an unsettling habit of not finishing his sentences or completely leaving the conversation halfway through. It's difficult to get used to, but after a year of practically living with him, I’ve gotten used to it. I have places to be at this exact moment anyway.

I scan my room one more time to make sure I’m not leaving something I need. I have to be prepared for anything; I might not be back here for a while. I consider bringing my repair kit. My body’s gone through many modifications, most performed by myself, so I know exactly how everything works and how to fix it. The android repair kit is big and bulky; it fills most of my backpack and doesn't leave room for much else. I glance in the bag and see there isn't much else I'm taking anyway, so I grab the kit and shove it in, zipping it up as I use my elbow to press basement level on the elevator.

Once in the apartment complex community storage unit, I find my Stalker. It's an expensive cycle (especially since even standard motorcycles are illegal to own as a civilian), and one that I don't take for granted; it's completely silent while driving and its matte black coloring allows it to be the ultimate stealth transport. I stole it from the flight school I was booted from and have cherished it ever since. I like going places unseen. Especially the place I'm going now.

As I zoom out of the building, I keep one eye focused on the disturbance chart in my left retina that sparked my sudden trip; I've become a master of multitasking with the internet display utility in my eyes, especially while piloting. The map doesn't only display the intrusion on the north wall now; there's a crash in the woods just north of Sandpoint, Idaho. My heart plummets into my gut, but I pull it right back out. He's fine. He's one of the best trained cops in Acirema, he wouldn't wipe out now, after all this time. Not now.

The ride is about half an hour long, and I don't think much while whizzing through the sharp night air. I turn into the woods as early as I can to make sure I'm not being followed or watched; the trees are difficult to navigate, but the evergreen blanket above me offers protection from unwanted attention. I'm invisible in what has now become my consistent crime committing look: motorcycle helmet, leather jacket, biker gloves, and black fabric covering every inch of my cybernetic body. The only parts that have grafted skin are from the collarbones up and my fingertips, for easy identification among humans.

The crash isn't hard to spot when I get close to its general area, with smoke billowing into the sky and the glow of small fires scattered in the brush. I slow the Stalker and unmount with little grace, pounding into the clearing and approaching the ship. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before- I don’t know if I could even call it a ship. But it flew him over the wall, so it must be. The single-person ride is big and heavy, with one thick doubled up wing outstretched (the other lay about twenty feet behind). There’s a propeller on the nose, making the whole thing look a little clownish. Is this what old aircrafts look like? Why would he be piloting such an old vehicle? Is this what’s beyond the wall?

There’s a world beyond the wall.

I swipe the thought away from the forefront to take care of later, concentrating on finding Hide. The ship has a big ovular window on the top of it, and outlined in hazy smoke inside is the slumped form of broad shoulders. That has to be him.

I frantically scan the metal border of the glass case; there’s no handle or button to open up the craft from the outside. The glass is thick, but my left arm is entirely titanium, and the leather jacket protects the metal from damage. I take a moment to breathe in, trying to will Hide’s face away from the inevitable hail of glass incoming, and I body slam my elbow into the dome.

The collision leaves the glass unharmed. I exhale and raise my arm again, but I hear something and freeze before I can make attempt two. I can recognize that sound anywhere. There’s a whirler, and it's accelerating straight toward me. I force myself back into action, attacking the glass again. It gives, allowing a single crack to form, and one more hit does it in. Glass falls in thick cubes onto the unconscious body it had stored away as smoke escapes from its previous prison.

Just as the glass explodes, a Whirler makes an uncoordinated stop right in front of me, headlights illuminating the whole clearing.

“Get your hands off of him!” Comes a fleetingly familiar voice.  
“I won’t let you slimy assholes put him in danger again!” I shout defensively, sneaking one hand to check his pulse. Weak, but present. Thank the stars.

Two more bodies step into view, backlit by the headlights, and the initial voice pauses. He thinks, and it’s such a familiar silence that I almost lose my footing. Finally, “Red?”

“Green?” My voice is high with disbelief. Why is he here?

His conspiracies. I had no idea how deep into the case he was, did I?

Green rushes forward to the other side of the ship and faces me, his face now fully visible in the light. I still can’t see much of it through his black mask and huge nerdy goggles, but his hair is vibrant green- eye-catching against his dark brown skin. I look down to see an extended, glove-clad hand.

“I’m Crow.” He offered.

“Oz.” I return the gesture and shake his hand, two layers of fabric between my metal hand and any potentially infected biotech.

The moment is interrupted by the faintest sound of approaching police cars. My eyes widen and meet Crows, confirming what we heard. We both turn back to Hide’s limp mass, tugging him upward unsuccessfully.

“You!-” Crow lets go of Hide, gesturing to the big silhouette standing by, “Pull him out!”

Crow is replaced by a very large, very strong looking native woman. She looks down at Hide awkwardly before positioning her arms under his and pulling. Sure enough, he comes easily, lifting out of the ship and onto my side. The movement must have stirred him awake, because he starts coughing shallowly. Once he’s out of the ship, though, I can easily carry his weight, especially since he stabilizes himself now with wobbly footing.

"Oz..." He wheezes.

"Hey, big guy. I got you." I reassure him, feeling the familiar prickly pain behind my eyes that warns me I'm about to cry. I dismiss the warning and control the tears before they leave their hiding place.

Hide's other side is suddenly hoisted up by another body.

I go to tell Green- Crow- I don’t need help with this, but I look over and see Lace. I blink hard, and she’s still there. No warnings or alerts pop up to tell me my eyes are malfunctioning. She’s just like I remember her: tall and latina, with short curls sitting on the top of her head and chocolate brown eyes. Her hair’s a bit shorter, shaved on the sides. It looks good. She’s sporting a blue varsity jacket and a smirk, showing off the dimple on her right cheek.

“Hey, sweet stuff, how’s it going?” She croons and I choke on my spit. Maya Lacey Diaz just called me sweet stuff. Was that supposed to be an insult? I open my mouth to shoot back and remember my helmet. She doesn’t know who I am.

“I’ve got it from here, miss.” I lurch forward toward my Stalker and she follows, determined to help.

“It won’t hurt to have an extra hand, though, will it? Pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to do so much work anyway. The name’s Lace, by the way, but people call me Hot Rod.” She winks, and I fight back a laugh. Lacey is the only one who’s ever called her Hot Rod.

The noise of cars is incredibly close now, and as we approach the Stalker, Lace protests. “Wait- we’re taking him with us.” She stops, consequently forcing me to halt between the two vehicles.

“Lady-”

“Lace, and listen, babe, I’m sure you have good intentions, but he’s not going to fit on that-- I’ll admit, extremely rad-- bike with you. Plus I’m getting paid for this and I don’t want to lose the cargo, also the cops are literally almost on top of us so could you please-”

“Okay! Yes, okay, let’s go!” I can see cop headlights now as we hurriedly shove Hide into the front seat of the Whirler and letting Crow scamper in after him, slamming the door shut before Lace could squeeze in; at the same time, a loud voice came from a speaker on top of one of the cars.

“Stop what you’re doing and back away from the vehicle!”

I slam my palm against the Whirler three times, shouting, “Go, go, go!” But nothing happens. I grab Lace’s right arm-- I remember the left one is cybernetic-- and pull her to the stalker, all the while shouting, “We’re not drowning in time, here, WHY AREN’T YOU DRIVING?”


	6. Hide

I’m alive. I attempt to take a gasping breath and choke down a little air before I start coughing weakly, lungs still adjusting to the change. I’m alive.

I’m breathing.

I’m walking.

Where am I walking?

I smell a familiar combination of leather and hot metal and instinctively push out one word.

“Oz…”

“Hey, big guy. I got you.” Her voice steadys me and I open my eyes slowly. I’m walking towards a Stalker. Did Oz steal that from the institute? That’s so absurdly illegal, I can’t quite wrap my head around it. I don’t try; Future Hide can handle that one.

A woman I don’t know takes my left side and walking is that much easier. She’s chatting with Oz and we change course, heading toward a Whirler now. That makes two illegally acquired vehicles in one night, the former of which is government issued. This one can’t be stowed away for Future Hide. I have to draw the line somewhere.

I’m about to protest, but instead I’m hoisted into the Whirler and pushed into the middle seat. A twinkish black kid slides in next to me and the door slams shut.

“Cool hair.” I blurt stupidly. I do admire the green dreadlocks; they almost look alive.

“Don’t patronize me.” The boy spits and I stare straight ahead, effectively silenced.

“WHY AREN’T YOU DRIVING?” Oz”s scream from outside cuts through the awkward moment and I look to my left, at the driver. Her hands are hovering over the wheel, shaking. She doesn’t know how to drive.

“I got it,” I excuse her from her post, grab the wheel, and hoist my body over hers so she can scoot under me to the middle seat.

I slam the accelerator and launch us into the maze of trees.


	7. Lace

The Whirler is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Biker Chic and me alone at the crash site with cops lined up in front of us. She runs us back to her bike, dragging me behind her. 

“What the hell are we doing?” I get on the bike behind her and we take off into the forest.

“Following the Whirler. Hope your friend can drive.” She shouts back at me, threading through the trees at fifty miles per hour with ease.

She definitely can’t. She failed every single simulator, and puked in a large quantity of them. She worked crew in my cargo squad; she’s a fantastic engineer, but she’s a mess behind the wheel.

Yet, the Whirler weaves through the trees just like us. Better, even. More controlled.

Murasaki is driving. I’m on the back of a stalker tailing a national cop hero who I just rescued and we’re running away from the police

Murasaki is running from the police.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” I shout back. Suddenly, a shot rings out and whizzes past us. “They’re shooting at us.”

“Hey-”

“THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US!” I cling to her waist and twist to keep an eye on the assailants. 

“HEY! Stop squirming, you’re gonna-” She interrupts herself with a hiss and the stalker lurches, almost sending us straight into a tree. She swerves back and we graze it. “You okay?”

“I’m gonna die a virgin!” I whimper into her, certain the wind and the gunshots will mask my pathetic cries. No response. She can’t hear me. “I’m gonna die and my mama doesn’t even know where I am and I was supposed to do the dishes after dinner today, now Connie’s gonna have to do it and she still hasn’t forgiven me for last time, and Betty! I’ll never get to finish her- we were so close, we only needed one or two of the more expensive parts but she would have been done in a couple weeks and now- holy shit.”

The trees disappear behind us and we’re in a huge clearing, facing the Acirema border wall. The clearing continues on either side of us until it all blends together on the horizon line. We’re going one hundred twenty miles per hour now, catching up to the whirler inch by inch, but still not faster than the cop cars behind us. They stop shooting and strategically surround us instead, blocking either direction of escape. It’s capital punishment or the wall.

Murasaki seems sure in his decision. The whirler doesn’t falter in its constant speed, pummeling toward the wall.

“Hey! That’s the wall!” I shout at Biker Chic.

“I’m aware!” She snaps back, accelerating even more to flank the whirler. Sure enough, sitting in the front seat with a look of concentrated deliberation is Hide Murasaki. He glances to his side to make eye contact with the girl I’m currently wrapped around like a sticky hand from a quarter machine. I return my eyes to our trajectory and discover, to my horror and dismay, the wall obscures my entire field of vision now. “Hold on tight!” is the last thing I hear before my pilot bends down and does a funny maneuver with the front hover tire, leans forward, and pulls back with all her weight, flipping the bike perpendicular with the ground. There’s a moment where I’m positive the stalker is going to fall backwards, pinning us both into the ground, but the bike launches upward off the ground and we slam against the wall.

We’re driving up the border wall. We’re gaining height and we’re running out of track and all I can think is we’re driving toward the end of everything. We can’t cross the wall. We can’t cross the wall.

We can’t cross the wall.

We shoot into the air once we're out of perpendicular pavement, and everything I'm thinking, the terror, the curiosity, it all slips away. I see.

I see everything.

I see the moon.


	8. Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ep. 2: The Outside

I’m gently woken by a soft heat on my face like the lamp I used for the bearded dragon my parents bought me when I was seven. I blink open my eyes and find myself in the backseat of a flimsy, incredibly old car. I glance around at my surroundings before moving to sit up in the passenger's seat. This is like no vehicle I’ve ever seen; the wheel is round and bulky, and there are levers and buttons that I don’t recognize. It looks so hard to drive, even without the vines and shrubbery growing up into it from the street. I grimace at the weeds that have taken over the floor of the car and turn my gaze upwards, to the windshield.

It’s coated in a thick layer of dust, but something outside is bright enough for its warmth to pierce through. I brush my fingers against the thick glass and it’s cool; the night before must have been chilly. I turn to my right and try the door handle. It doesn’t open of its own volition, but a hard push forces it to peel open reluctantly. I stumble out of the car and into the direct sunlight.

I’ve never seen the sun before. It’s so small, but so big at the same time, reflecting mirculously off a raging river in front of me.. The hair on my arms stands on end and a wave of goosebumps washes down my body. I never understood scripture until this moment; this is why people wrote of gods so long ago.

I turn away from the sun to try and locate where I am. I’m surrounded on all sides by tall buildings, all in shambles, excluding the side where the sun filters through. Every window is shattered, the broken glass littering the street, which is overgrown through the pavement. Vines climb every wall. Birds sing and bugs chirp louder than I’ve ever heard, even in the forest where I found Hide just last night.

Hide. When were we separated? I try to remember anything beyond us launching into the air above the wall; I come up empty. How did I end up inside a car? Why aren’t Hide and Bear with me?

Where am I?

_You are where you need to be._

I gasp in surprise at the feminine voice, spinning around and snapping my head left and right to find the culprit.

Who are you? Why can't I see you?  
  
_Look down._ _  
_

I obey and my eyes instantly zero in on my right hand, glowing slightly. I lift it and turn it over; there’s a splotch of bright yellow-green glowing skin on the heel of my hand, with veins of the same fluorescent color branching out in the palm and climbing up my forearm. I blink dumbly.  
  
What is it?  
  
_I am Pictor, one of the Great Beasts. I called you here to ask for your help._ _  
_ _  
_ My help? Why me? What for? Great Beasts? Where am I?   
_  
_ _You ask many questions. You would; you're my host, after all. Every question will be answered in time, boy, but I don’t have the capability while trapped in a human form. It’s taking everything I have just to speak coherently; you’re going to have to figure it out yourself. I have the utmost faith in you._  
  
In me? How?  
  
There’s no response.  
  
“Where am I?” I ask aloud with emphasis, hoping to bring her back, but only the urban jungle speaks back, birds flying away from where they sat nearby. I’m going to have to figure it out myself. I’m in a totally new environment with wildly different variables to account for and on top of that, I have a countless list of questions in need of answers. No, not countless. I just need to narrow them all down into a few broader questions. I reach down into my satchel to find a small notepad and pen.

**Questions to answer**

**Where am I?**

**How do I find Hide and the people I came here with?**

**~~What~~ Who is the thing in my hand?**

**What does she want from me?**

Satisfied with my short, attainable list, I cap the pen and lower the notepad, looking up once again at the broken buildings, then back at the river behind me. The morning sun isn’t so glaring against the water now and I can see the extent of it; the river curves through the city in an arc, and I’m at the crescendo of it. It cuts the city smoothly in half, with no regard for man made infrastructure. I can run my fingers through the river at my feet where it swallows the rest of the street I stand on.

Where am I?

I am outside Acirema. I am outside the wall. I am on solid ground, and I know where I need to go next.


	9. Oz

**SYSTEM WARNING: INTRUDER ALERT**

My head is pounding with noise and I wake up to the back of my eyelids crowded with pop-ups. I try to swipe them away but they keep coming, telling me there’s someone hacking into me.

**SYSTEM WARNING: INTRUDER ALERT**

I open my eyes. I can’t see much better than I did with my eyes closed; the warnings obscure large parts of my vision. When I move to sit up, though, I’m restricted. I freeze. There’s someone laying on me, arms wrapped around my waste, snoring. Soft, loose curls brush the back of my neck. Lace.

I took Lace with me. Goddammit.

Her grip is tight, and I panic a little. I’m not a physically affectionate person. Especially not with Maya Lacey Diaz. She hates me. If she finds out we shared a moment like this, I would never recover. I quickly run through all my options:

  1. Wake her up.



Pros: I get out of this immensely emotionally uncomfortable spooning session.

Cons: She knows we shared an immensely emotionally uncomfortable spooning session.

This option is undesirable.

2\. Attempt to get out without waking her.

Pros: possibility of escaping this nightmare scenario unscathed.

Cons: equal possibility of waking her, her knowing I was trying to sneak away, and then we’re both mortified.

Would her knowing I’m embarrassed make it better, since we would be embarrassed together? Absolutely not. That’s stupid.

3\. Kill her.

Pros: I am free of this virtual hell.

Cons: killing Maya Lacey Diaz.

This is not as much an option as it is a fantasy.

I squeeze my eyes shut and place my hand on her left wrist. I guess it’s option 2 then. I make sure to keep a thick layer of fabric between my hand and her bionic limb, lifting it slowly up and off of me. Then, I lean forward, checking to make sure she wasn’t otherwise connected to me. Instead, I am violently reminded of the gunshot wound I sustained during my getaway when I’m wracked with sharp pain. I manage to stay silent, curling in on myself slightly to stop the pain. Lace inhales quickly and I freeze once more, sure that I’ve just doomed myself to the worst outcome of this encounter, but seconds pass and nothing happens. I continue to lean, then roll away, letting the pain overwhelm me in favor of getting out of her vicinity. I’m free.

Now I can focus on the other pressing matters that need immediate attention. Laying flat on my back, I close my eyes and feel around for the hole in my abdomen. My eyes aren’t useful right now anyway; they’re still blocked by the alerts, which have become white noise in my temple. I find the wound just above my pelvis on my right side. It could have been a graze, easily repairable, but Lace had to move around like an idiot while I was trying to drive. This is why I’m a better pilot than her. I inhale deeply into my chest and click into the warning. Instead of taking me to the problem, the beeping alerts start to slow, as if something’s force closing them. One by one, the warning pages clouding my vision disappear and the sirens slow to a stop, and there’s nothing. I can see perfectly.

There’s so much blue.

My peripheral is blocked by my cycle helmet, so I see an uninterrupted sky. It’s deep, vibrant blue, spotted with wispy white clouds. I’ve never seen anything like it.

_ That’s sad. _

That must be the intruder.

_ Spot on, though I really thought I’d have much less resistance. Ara didn’t warn me of this. Your body is like no host I’ve ever taken. _

It knows what I’m thinking. I’ve never heard of that kind of android hacking before. It can’t be someone in Acirema; there’s no internet past the wall. There must be people out here.

_ Technically right, but I’m not one of those. _

What, people?

_ Yes. _

I attempt to swipe it away. I feel it push back, securely locked in my body.

_ You can’t keep ignoring things you don’t understand. _

Yes, I can.

Now that I have my vision and control over my body, I mute the nerve endings in and around the bullet wound and sit up, lifting off my helmet and shaking out my long white hair.

My body is a standard service droid; somewhat fragile, but nimble and dexterous, with white hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows to identify me as a servant. The trouble with that is that I’m not. It’s unalterable, though, so I just tell people it’s a style decision and go about my life. I shed my backpack to retrieve my repair kit and shudder at the thought that I almost left it at home. I open it up and inspect the contents for injury. It’s a sturdy case; the innards are unharmed. Taking what I need, I set up the small standing mirror so I can see what I’m working on without bending over. I start to take off my gloves to have better control with my fingers and I’m confronted by something very wrong.

The vein-like lights that run down my wrists and into my fingers are glowing red. I take off my shirt and the tank top I wear under it to see all the parts of my body that usually glow blue are now glowing unmistakably red. I frantically run through my system functions and power settings to make sure nothing is severely damaged or wrong; everything’s completely normal.

Excluding the intruder.

I put it on the list of things to ignore and probably never revisit and proceed to fix up my wound. Once it’s passable, I turn the nerve endings back on. No pain. Perfect. I bandage it up anyway so Lace doesn’t see my metal plating through the hole in my shirt and slip said shirt back on, grabbing my black gloves to pull them on as well. My robotic skin is once again hidden, settling some of my nerves. I feel the cold air blow my hair back and bite my ears. It’s early morning. I was out all night. 

_ Find your team. Find Crescent City. Tear down your barriers. _

Shut the fuck up.

“ _ Osamu Murasaki? _ ” the all too familiar Latina voice gasps from behind me.

Goddammit.


	10. Bear

I’m abruptly awoken by a sudden and intense bout of nausea. I roll on my side and puke into the ground pathetically, gasping for breath. Immediately I feel physically better, but as my stomach settles, my heart beat rapidly increases. I’m dead. I can’t be alive, I drove off the end of the world. I can’t breathe. I can’t see, everything is black. I can’t see, and now things are touching me, hands on my shoulders, but I can’t see who they belong to, and I’m gasping for breath, I can’t breathe.

And suddenly, I can. I take in a gasping breath, and my lungs fill with air. My heart slows down, almost forcefully, as if someone is reaching in and squeezing it to stop its fearful chatter.

_Open your eyes._

I open my eyes. They focus on a head of very short, dark purple hair and warm, worried eyes. Hide Murasaki.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?” His grip on my shoulders grounds me now, and I lean into the touch.  
  
_You’re alive. You’re calm. You’re okay._  
  
“I’m okay.” I distantly hear myself reply.  
  
“It’s okay if you’re not. A lot of change is happening in the span of a night.”  
  
“I really shouldn't be okay but he says I’m okay, so I guess I am.” I say without thinking. Surprisingly, he nods understandingly and removes his hand, gesturing toward the shoulder it previously covered. My peripheral is tinted with an orange light, and looking down, I can see its source on my left shoulder. It’s almost like a sting, with venomous branches spreading out from the source near my collarbone. Murasaki lifts his shirt in front of me and I see an identical mark on the front of his hip, though his glows purple.  
  
“They’re the good guys, I think.” He reassures.  
  
“The fact that I’m not freaking out right now would really freak me out if I wasn’t not freaking out.” I say in response. He chuckles, but it’s the truth; after my initial reaction, my body took control and it won’t let me panic-- no, he won’t let me panic. The voice.  
  
I hope he’s a good guy, because he’s really making a home in my shoulder and also the part of my brain that feels anxiety. That's normally most of my brain. I’m not sure yet how I feel about the absence of constant dull terror in my bloodstream.  
  
“I’m Hide.” He extends his hand and I take it, welcoming the gesture.  
  
“I know. I’m Bear, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”  
  
“Please, it's an honor to meet my savior. I would have died or been taken in by the police back in Acirema if it wasn't for you and your friends..” He teases, standing and pulling me up with him. Standing straight, I have a solid three inches of height on him. He looks up to meet my eyes and smiles. "Let’s go find your friends, Bear.”


	11. Ara

Earth is our greatest creation. She is massive but intricate, not for a moment static; she is always shifting, growing. Her skin is lush and soft in places, dry and harsh in others. The life here is individual but collective. It intertwines in a way we haven’t been able to perfect anywhere else. She isn’t afraid of change; she needs change to survive.

Earth hasn’t changed since the separation. Much of it is uninhabitable due to a mixture of disease and nuclear-fallout-related turbulence. She has no more smooth edges; her waves are tsunamis and her hills are mountains. The largest habitable patch of skin on her surface is overflowing and rapidly eating itself into nonexistence. This perfect experiment we created has turned into an outdated pop culture reference. It’s no longer relevant; it no longer holds the significance and stature it once did.

Nothing which is broken is irreparable. Not at the hands of the Great Beasts.

We built Earth from nothing, and we will assemble her once more.

How hard can it be? We’re not starting with nothing this time.


End file.
